thanked her stars that it was so.

"I wish we could sing!" sighed the littlest young Jackdaw. "Babble, babble!"
replied his mother angrily.

And then, as it was dinner-time, he forgot his grief as they all said grace,
and fell-to.

One evening the old Jackdaw came home very late, carrying something that
burned bright and green, like an evening star; all the nest shone where he set
it down.

"What do you think of that for a discovery?" he said to the Janedaw.

"Think?" she said; "I can't. Some of it looks good to eat; but that fire-patch
at the end would burn one's inside out."

Presently the Jackdaw family settled itself down to sleep; only the youngest
one sat up and watched. Now he had seen something beautiful. Was it going to
come true? Its light was like the song of the nightingale in the leaves
overhead: it glowed, and throbbed, and grew strong, flooding the whole place
where it lay.

Soon, in the silence, he heard a little wail of grief: "Why have they carried
me away here," sighed the glow-worm, "out of the tender grass that loves the
ground?"

The littlest Jackdaw listened with all his heart. Now something at last was
going to become true, without scratching his legs and making him feel as
though crumbs were in his bed.